Rivers of Destiny
by The Tiger's Flame
Summary: My name is Sylvia Nightrose, and I have been reaped, from District 11, to go and fight to the death in the twenty-eighth Hunger Games. I am only twelve, so I stand no chance alone. But no one will want me as an ally, as I cannot fight or defend myself. It's practically impossible for me to come out of the Hunger Games alive, so what should I do?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

My name is Sylvia Nightrose, and now... I'm running. I am surrounded by dark pines, and I'm speeding through this forest. I don't know where I'm running; all I know is that I'm running from something – but I don't know what that is, either. I'm unequipped and defenseless as I tear through the trees; my speed is my only hope now. An arrow whizzes past my ear, and, instinctively, I duck. My foot catches on a fallen log, and I stumble; at that very moment, excruciating pain explodes in my right shoulder. There is no doubt that my pursuer's arrow has found its mark.

Without pausing for breath, I twist and tear the arrow from my shoulder, flinging it to the ground. I hardly stop running to inspect the deep wound that releases warm blood over my jacket. My hair is let down, and whips in front of my face, but I hold it in front, my feet pounding against the cold forest floor. The sound of footsteps grows fainter and fainter as I run along.

Finally, I stop in my tracks, and turn around to judge my pursuer's distance from me. My eyes scan the area for as far as I can see, but there is no sign of any person near the trees that I can see. And that is when an arrow pierces my neck.

I stagger back, and fall to my knees. The arrow is lodged in the base of my throat, and a sound that is half-cry and half-moan escapes my open jaws. Blood stains my jacket collar. My hands fly up to touch the wound, but this only causes a slight sting in the area. For a few long moments, I don't feel anything but shock. And then, the pain strikes, and I cry out again, this time because of the agony caused by the wound in my neck.

I wake up, sweating. My long, brown hair is a tangled mess beneath me, and my bright blue eyes are blinking in shock. My shoulder and neck still ache a little, but it's the kind of pain that will go away soon. It's the morning before the reaping, and... I've been having nightmares of the Hunger Games since three nights ago.

It's not just any reaping. It's the first reaping where my name has been entered. I turned twelve less than a month ago, so this will be my first time. My cold hands clamp together, and I shiver slightly. What if _I'm_ chosen for the Games? What'll happen then? I don't know how to fight too well, and I'm completely unprepared. I probably would meet my end before the first day is over; I don't really stand a chance if I'm reaped.

There are only a few things that might serve as advantages to me, _if_ I am actually reaped. I can shoot with deadly accuracy, but I never used the bow that most archers use. The bow I used was harder to string, and it had several indents that worked to my advantage. Besides, I haven't handled a bow and arrow in years. I practiced archery when I was around seven, but I stopped after my father died. Maybe it might all come back to me sometime, but I'd rather resort to other things in the Games.

I have decent experience with edible and herbal plants, as well, so that might do me some good – in fact, inside District 11, I'm probably the one who knows best about healing. Our district is that of agriculture; thus, there are _always_ workers falling off ladders or being exposed to some poisonous plant. They usually come to _our_ home, trusting that I will be able to heal them. Which means, that if I'm reaped, then no one can come to me for help to heal a person.

And, most importantly, I can _run_ ; I'm nimble and fast for my young age of twelve. I can also climb trees very well; running and hiding go well together. If I _am_ chosen for the Games, I'll probably end up seeking refuge in the depths of some ancient tree. And if I'm attacked, I'll easily outpace my opponent.

I still hope I'm not chosen for the twenty-eighth Hunger Games. I don't want to die very soon, especially not at the hands of another tribute who's being forced to fight twenty-three others to the death in order to survive. It's brutal, and unnecessary. President Snow, the head of Panem, just sits in his seat in the Capitol, watching in pleasure as all but one tribute dies every year. Two years ago, a blind girl from District 7 was reaped, and she barely survived two days. It wasn't fair to her, but the Capitol did absolutely nothing to stop the innocent girl's death.

It's harsh, and unfair. There's no _need_ for twenty-four people to fight to the death in an arena, is there? Then why do we do it? What does our misery mean to President Snow and the Capitol?

My knuckles are almost white with cold fear as I perceive myself falling to my death in the Games. I almost fail to notice the warm, gentle hand that slips in behind me and rests on my back. I turn, slightly startled by the gesture, to see that it is my mother, Maya Nightrose. Her soft green eyes meet my worried blue ones, and her lips curve up gently in a smile as her hand runs through my dark hair. "Are you all right, Sylvia?"

"I... I'm _worried,_ Mother," I blurt, looking up into her warm stare.

"Don't be." Her words are so simple, yet somehow they make me a little calmer. "It's your first time in the reaping, and there are many, many other candidates. You probably won't be reaped." My ears pick up the way she slightly lingers on the word _probably._

"But what if I _am_ reaped?"

My mother removes her hand from my head. "Every child who is eligible asks the same question. It probably won't happen. There's only one girl and one boy from each district, and there are plenty of other girls who have an equal or higher chance of being reaped." She sighs, motioning for me to stand. Come on; we have to get you ready for the reaping today. Even if you're not chosen, I want you to look your best."

Reluctantly, I stand, and follow my mother into the main room of the house. Well, our small "cottage" really has only one room, but we have divided it into different corners: one for sleeping, one for eating, one for bathing, one for storage, and one main area.

"It's still really early," I complain, looking to see that the sun was barely up in the sky. "The reaping doesn't begin until an hour, or so. I don't need to get ready _now._ I can wait for a little, can't I, Mother?"

My mother looks at me, seeming slightly puzzled, and shrugs. "I suppose so. Is there anything specific you want to do?"

"No," I say, shaking my head, "I'll just go outside and see if I can be useful to anyone." Without waiting for her reply, I slowly walk out of the door – which was no more than an open entrance – and stop in the center of the open area, at the base of the podium where the reaping takes place. My chin is slightly tilted upwards as I gaze at the area where the selected tributes are usually made to stand.

On the screens in our district, I've watched the full story of the Hunger Games only twice; before that, my mother thought it would be too harsh and covered my eyes from time to time, when the fighting was brutal.

I lower my gaze to a small puddle at my feet. _I won't be reaped,_ I tell myself. _I won't be. There are many other girls in District 11 who could. I won't be reaped. I won't be reaped. I won't be..._

At that moment, a new face appeared in the puddle, beside mine, and a hand touched my shoulder. From the reflection, I can tell that it's my close friend Brooke. This will be _her_ first reaping, too, where she can be eligible. While we are very close friends, the two of us look _nothing_ alike. I have long brown hair that falls to just above my waist, and bright blue eyes. You rarely see people like that in District 11, as most people look more like Brooke. My friend has darker, short, curly brown hair that doesn't even reach her shoulders, and warm brown eyes.

I turn as she speaks to me. "Hi, Sylvia. I called out to you from our home, but I guess you didn't hear."

"Sorry... I'm nervous." My voice shakes as I speak, emphasizing my words.

Brooke's hand brushes my shoulder again, and I study her slender form. She isn't as thin as I am, but neither of us have much to eat – all because we live in District 11. "I know, Sylvia. So am I. Mother says that every child feels the same way, even the eighteen-year-olds... why are you looking like that?"

"Because _my_ mother said the same thing to me," I say quietly.

Brooke smiles at me. "They all think the same way." I nod, and the two of us remain in silence for a few long minutes, staring at the podium ahead of us. Two people, one boy and one girl, would be standing up there in less than two hours, torn away from their families, and about to head to their deaths.

Finally, I break the silence. "Is Goldie feeling better?" Marigold, known to most of the district as Goldie, was Brooke's five-year-old sister, who had eaten some strange plant that appeared to me to be poisonous. I had given Goldie an herb – I don't know it's name – that I knew would make her sick, and would cause her to throw up from time to time for the next few days. And in the process, the poison would have left her body.

"She's definitely better than before, yes," Brooke says, "but she's not quite back to normal. I suppose it'll take a few more days for her to recover, though. Whatever you gave her should do it."

"I hope so," I say blankly, my mind not really on Goldie.

Brooke's comforting touch drains out of my body as she pulls her hand away to face me. "You're still thinking about the Games, aren't you?" she asks, rather accusingly, and I nod sheepishly. "Well... there are hundreds of other slips, you know. It probably _won't_ be one of us."

"You're probably right, Brooke," I reply, with a soft sigh. "Neither of us is going to be reaped."

There is a long pause, and the two of us hold gazes for what seems like minutes. Brooke speaks again, finally, and I blink my bright blue eyes as she takes a step back. "I should go now. Goldie... needs me. And we have to get ready for the reaping. Mother will never let me attend it without looking my best."

"I should go, too," I say, hearing my mother call for me to come inside. "Mother's calling me." But Brooke hadn't stopped to listen to me finish speaking; she had already gone. I watch as she pauses in front of her home, waves farewell to me, and disappears inside.

I jump as something lands at my feet. It is a loaf of dry bread, more than enough for my mother and me. "May the odds be in your favor!" The voice comes from the bread's owner: Azalea, an elderly lady who is one of the wealthier people in District 11.

"Thank you," I reply quietly, picking it up. The aroma fills my nostrils; it has been two or three days since I last ate. Sighing, I turn and walk back to _my_ home, and my mother greets me with a smile.

"Come on; we need to get you ready for the reaping."

* * *

 _A Question for You: What do you think of Sylvia? And how do you feel about Brooke?_

 _I've been thinking of writing this fanfiction for quite a while, now, but I never got around to doing it. I'll try to update as often as I can. The more reviews I get, the sooner I'll update this. So... I hope you enjoy. Please review!_

 _~ The Tiger's Flame_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

"Aren't you done yet, Sylvia?" Though my mother's words are hurried, I can pick up a trace of amusement and affection in her voice. I pull at the short sleeves of the dress she has given me to wear for today's reaping, and step toward her.

Though I'm usually not one to be fascinated by various types of clothing, I have to admit that this is truly beautiful. It is a light blue dress that feels like it was made just for me; it fits me perfectly all the way around. The bottom part has thin, narrow pleats that fall to my knees. My mother says that the color of the dress matches my eyes exactly. I cannot help but run my hand again and again over the smooth fabric. It is rare to see such clothing in District 11. But everyone has _some_ article of clothing, just as beautiful as this, keep away, only to wear on reaping days.

My mother smiles, then motions for me to sit on the floor. I obey her, and, without a word, she runs her hand through my brown hair. Before I can say anything, her hands are already flying through my hair, braiding it rapidly but neatly. Finally, she steps back, and places the long braid over my shoulder. It is nothing extraordinary, but on _this_ occasion, I feel that I should appreciate it more than usual.

"Thank you, Mother!" I exclaim, placing a hand on the braid, and whisking it away moments later.

"All I want of you today is for you to look nice," my mother says, leaning closer toward me and smiling. "And... Sylvia, I'm not saying you _will_ be reaped, but if you _are_... just try and stay alive. For me."

"For you," I echo, and the impossible worry rushes into my mind once more. So... what will I do if I actually _do_ get reaped? All that my mother is doing to make me "look nice"... is it all just readying me for slaughter at the hands of other tributes who will kill me against their will?

In District 11, many young people die of sickness or of being overworked, out there on the fields. But I would rather die like _that_ than in the midst of the Hunger Games. To my knowledge, there has never been a victor from District 11 before, and there probably won't be soon.

"I'm not saying that you will be reaped!" My mother's voice rises as she speaks, repeating what she had tried to emphasize previously. Instead of arguing, I simply nod, and head towards the slab of wood which we use as an eating table. My mother sits down on the floor beside me, and she neatly tears off a rather large chunk and hands it to me.

I don't really have the stomach to eat, but I swallow anyway, feeling my stomach fill. I haven't eaten in a while, so I'm hungrier than usual, but the prospect of the reaping has driven away my appetite. Still, people in District 11 _know_ not to ask for too much food, because they know they can't ever get it.

"I'm finished," I tell my mother, standing up and dusting off my light blue dress.

A look of surprise flashes across my mother's face. "But, Sylvia, you haven't eaten for at least-"

"No, I'm just not hungry," I say, slower this time, in a tone that doesn't invite further argument. Sighing, I stand up, and speed over to the door, peering cautiously out. I see that most of District 11 has already gathered, and I see that the escort of our district is ready to mount the stairs to the podium. Some of the Peacekeepers, in black-and-white uniforms, have already arrived, and are walking around the area. I turn back. "Mother, they're about to start. Let's go."

My mother finishes the last of her bread and stands up, ushering me outside and following seconds after. We mingle in the crowd, looking around. I find Brooke again, and she smiles brightly. Still, I've known her long enough to easily say that her smile is forced.

"Look; there's Lucy," Brooke tells me, pointing out the District 11 escort. Lucy Vunfire is a middle-aged lady with bright red hair that falls to her upper back in curls, and green eyes. A big smile is etched onto her face, and she quickly climbs up the steps to address us.

"Ladies and gentlemen of District 11, I am pleased to take part in the reaping for the twenty-eighth Hunger Games. Let us go over some..." As Lucy continues with her tale of the history of the Hunger Games, and the rules of taking part, my mind wanders from her words.

"Who do you think she'll pick?" I ask Brooke, motioning to the two bowls – one for boys, one for girls – that the Peacekeepers have placed on a small table in front of her. "All I care for is that it's not one of us."

"Me, too," Brooke agrees quietly. "It probably won't be, really. What are the odds of _that?"_

"Not much, I guess," I reply.

At this point, both Brooke and I stop speaking, as Lucy Vunfire speaks the words that we have been dreading for so long. "So, it's time to choose our lucky District 11 tributes for this year. Ladies first, I believe?" Though she spoke in a question, Lucy was simply stating her next course of action, as she always did, every year. I take a step back, and I clasp Brooke's hand tightly.

"So _lucky,"_ Brooke mutters to me, but I don't reply; I'm too intent on listening to Lucy.

Clearing her throat, Lucy pushes her naturally bright red hair over one shoulder, and steps toward the girls' bowl. Her pale fingers touch the rim of the glass as she slides her hand inside. I can swear that every pair of eyes in the clearing were staring at Lucy's fingers, and nothing else. I lean forward slightly as Lucy draws out a slip of paper, clears her throat again, and reads the name, so that I won't miss a word that leaves her jaws. But one I do, I wish I hadn't; I wish I can slink back and pretend I had never heard Lucy speak.

Somehow, the name sounds familiar to me. But I can't register whose it is. My mind is foggy, and I feel my grip on Brooke loosen. Only when I see the alarmed expression in Brooke's dark eyes, and the same look in my mother's, I realize.

Sylvia Nightrose is _my_ name.

I wonder why I couldn't think straight a few moments before... maybe it was just the shock. But that's not the main problem here, is it? The air suddenly feels as though the temperature has dropped to freezing. The hair on my arm bristles, and I uncontrollably shiver.

Then, a dozen heads in front swivel around to look at me. I want to flinch away from the prying stares, but somehow, I just can't. Silence has fallen amongst the crowd, as gradually, most of District 11 is staring right at the young twelve-year-old girl with bright blue eyes and long, brown hair: me.

My mother is the first to speak. Her voice comes out in a short gasp. "Sylvia!"

As I feel myself involuntarily release Brooke's hand, _she_ grabs _mine,_ and holds it tight. Brooke's grip is so firm that I fear for a moment that she might crush my hand. "You can't go, Sylvia. You're only twelve, and you have to stay here. You're my best friend."

"Sylvia!" My mother's voice, this time, is more of a scream, as she pushes her way through the crowd. But as soon as I turn my pleading blue stare onto her, Peacekeepers shove her back, muttering to her and grabbing her arms, pushing her to the edge of the crowd.

"Sylvia Nightrose?" Lucy Vunfire repeats, and this time, something snaps inside me.

Though I can't see myself, I know that my face has probably gone completely white. My hands are clenched into fists that turn my knuckles pale, and I tear myself from Brooke's grip, tears in my eyes, as I push forward. The crowd automatically makes way for me, and I drag my feet as I climb the stairs to the podium. Once I'm up there, I stare at the podium floor, and nothing else.

I hear Brooke's shocked gasp, and my mother's wail of anguish, but I ignore it, not wanting to remind myself of what I'm going to leave behind.

"There she is, ladies and gentlemen," Lucy says, hurrying over to me and ushering me to the center of the stage, right beside her. "Meet Sylvia Nightrose, your female tribute for District 11." She pauses, then stares at me with a bright smile on her face. "Ah, you're very, very lucky, aren't you?"

I continue to stare at my feet, not wanting to answer that question.

Lucy seems to understand that I don't want to talk, and she turns away, but I finally lift my head, my blue eyes scanning the crowd. There... I see my mother, and Brooke, and even little Marigold. I feel tears spring to my eyes once more, but I force them back, trying to act confident in front of all of the mildly interested, but also slightly sad, eyes of the people of my district.

"And now, for the boys," Lucy says, and flounces over to the small table. My eyes are deliberately trained on her hand as it enters the boys' bowl, and she draws out a slip of paper. I don't want to look back at Brooke and my mother; I don't want to be reminded that I won't see either of them ever again.

"Troy Whitethorn!"

The boy who ascends the steps to the podium, and stands obediently beside me, is one of the giants. He's over a foot taller than I am, with dark skin, dark eyes, and jet-black hair. He seems slightly afraid to be standing on the podium... but who isn't? Lucy smiles brightly at both of us. "There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. Sylvia Nightrose, and Troy Whitethorn. The District 11 tributes for the twenty-eighth Hunger Games!"

And... as usual, no one claps.

* * *

"You have about a minute left to finish speaking to your district!" Lucy warns me, popping her head inside the room where I am standing. "After that, we'll head onto the train and get to the Capitol, and there you'll be fixed up by your stylist!"

I nod gratefully at her, and she vanishes just as quickly as she had come. Brooke and my mother stand in front of me. Suddenly, I feel rage pulse through me as I face the two of them, the people who are closest to me. "You lied to me! You _promised_ I wouldn't be reaped! You promised! And now, here I am! What does this mean?"

Neither of them speak. Brooke seems to be studying my face cautiously, while my mother puts an arm around me, wiping my tears with the other. "It was unlikely," my mother says, "but not impossible. But now that you're here, just make the best of it."

Brooke grabs my palm and places something in it. I look down to see a simple necklace: a white string with a small stone at the end. I recognize this; it is the trinket I had given Brooke two years ago. "For you to remember me," she says simply. And, without another word, she leaves me staring after her in awe.

"Mother? What should I do?" I ask, feeling the urge to wail like a young child.

"Now listen," she says softly, the weight of defeat lingering in her voice. "All you can do now is stay alive. You're _excellent_ with the bow and arrow, and-"

"Our bow was different, and you know it. And I haven't done archery in so long."

"-and you can run and climb trees better than most other people in District 11," my mother finishes, as though she hadn't heard me. "Sylvia, whatever happens, I want you to try your best. You may not win these Games, but I want to know that all my effort into you wasn't for nothing. I want you to try your hardest."

"I will, Mother," I promise her, and I mean it. Chances are, I'll be dead before the first day ends.

A bell rings, and Lucy appears again. Before she can bid me farewell, my mother is shoved out of the room by two Peacekeepers, and Lucy helps me to my feet. "Sylvia, isn't it?" I nod, knowing fully well that Lucy knows my name. "The train is here; it won't be _too_ long a ride. Let's go."

* * *

 _A Question for You: What do you think of Troy? What do you think his relationship will be with Sylvia?_

 _I feel as though this chapter was slightly too rushed. Or maybe it's just me. Tell me how you feel about this, please. In order for me not to lose interest, I need reviews... they help; they really do. So please review!_

 _~ The Tiger's Flame_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

I swallow, feeling the warm, rich soup trickle down my throat. My stomach feels full as I stare with sudden displeasure at the large meal assembled in front of me. In District 11, we have never even _seen_ this much food at once; I am not used to it.

Troy, on the other hand, seems to be having the time of his life. A pleased grin is on his face as he wolfs down our lunch. We are on the train, now, and the sun outside is at its height. The train speeds past, and the scene around us is blurred from the immense speed at which we are going.

"I can't eat any more," I say, pushing against the table so that my chair slides back, and standing up.

Lucy Vunfire frowns, muttering as she hurries over to me. "You don't just get up and stop eating when you want," she snaps. "You need to wait to be _dismissed."_ She speaks the last word very slowly, as though she thinks I do not know what it means.

Rolling my bright blue eyes, I sit down again. "Can I be dismissed, now?"

" _May_ I," Lucy snaps back. "And don't roll your eyes; it's impolite."

By now, I had gotten the impression that Lucy Vunfire was most definitely not one to argue with about manners and politeness. She wouldn't do anything for you unless you were prim and proper, I realized. For now, it simply gets on my nerves.

"All right." Annoyance crept into my voice. "May I be dismissed?"

"Actually," Lucy says, "we're all going to stay here after we eat, just to have a little chat about the strengths and talents that you and Troy have." So... all that _politeness_ was for nothing, wasn't it? Sighing, I lean forward, my head resting on my hand. "And you can meet your trainer." As she speaks, the curtains to this area rustle and swish open, and a man enters.

At first glance, I can tell that this man is definitely _not_ from District 11. He's tall, and slender, and he has pale blonde hair and green eyes. Aside from that, there has never been a victor from District 11 before, so he _couldn't_ be.

"Meet Dylan," Lucy announces brightly, "your new trainer. Ask him anything you want before you get started with tactics." And she hurries out of the room.

"Hello," Dylan says, sitting down beside Troy, across from me. "You are this year's District 11 tributes, right? What names do you go by?"

I am surprised that he doesn't know this already, but maybe he just wants to make conversation. Troy answers first, after taking a rather large bite of the soft bread provided by the Capitol. "I'm Troy."

"And I'm Sylvia," I add.

"As Lucy said," Dylan says, "do you have anything to ask?"

"What _district_ were you from before you won the Games?" I ask quickly, a hand touching my braid. Dylan seems to be at least twenty-five or so, by my standards. "You couldn't be from District 11. You don't look it, and District 11 has never had a victor before, in its entire history."

Dylan shrugs. "I'm from District 3." This is madness. Why would the Capitol put _us,_ especially me, with someone from one of the higher-class districts? It doesn't make sense to me, unless the Capitol badly wants someone from District 11 to win this year.

"Anything else?" Troy doesn't say anything, and neither do I, so Dylan seems to believe that it's over. "Okay, then. Well..." He seems to be slightly confused by my unresponsive scowl. "... what are you good at?"

Thankfully, Troy speaks before I do. "I can lift weights pretty well. I also am a good user of the spear."

"What else?" Dylan acts interested.

"Oh... I also can throw a dagger if I have to, but I'm not very good."

Dylan raises an eyebrow ever so slightly. "Ah... we'll soon fix that, you know. That's _one_ thing you're here for!" Finally, he turns to me, and I lean back in my chair, wanting to shrink away and reappear in District 11, acting normal. "What can _you_ do?"

"I... uh... I know a lot of plants and their uses... and I can run and climb trees." My voice, to my surprise, doesn't shake. I decide not to tell him about my skill with the bow and arrow, because it probably won't be useful. I can tell that Dylan's not impressed by the look on his face, as much as he tries to hide it. Sighing, I look down at my hands, which are on my lap, then look up again, studying our trainer's face.

"Okay. You could do with some weapons to strengthen you a little," Dylan says critically. "But otherwise, you just have got to hide when you can." His eyes flicker for a moment, and meet mine. "What's this about running?"

Now, he just made me feel even smaller. "I a fast runner. For _my_ district." Dylan has no chance to reply, as Lucy reappears in the room. Her green eyes are bright and gleaming, now, as she turns to me and Troy, smiling.

"We're here. Dylan will lead you to your prep team, and you will be prepared by them. Oh, and don't forget... tomorrow is the day of the opening ceremony. So you'll spend the entire day with your stylist."

* * *

I'm faced with two young women, out of whom neither appeal very much to me. One of them, Augusta, has sleek, silver hair that falls to her upper back, the bottom embellished with streaks of black and blue, and hazel eyes. She is overly cheerful – even more than Lucy, I must say – and bursts into excited little squeals, like a young child, every now and then; when she does that, I resist the urge to tell her, to her face, that she is an overexcited idiot.

The other, Agatha, is practically the opposite. She has short, jet-black hair that stops at her sharp chin, and dark green eyes. Unlike Augusta, Agatha doesn't talk as much, except to speak _about_ me in her cool, calm, smooth voice.

And... I've been with these two for hours, now.

"She has quite the hair, for District 11," Augusta says. "Doesn't she, Agatha?"

Agatha nods, calmly, and I feel a stab in my heart. What do they mean, _for District 11?_ Do most of the District 11 tributes they've had so far have disagreeable hair? My mother has always told me my hair was extraordinary, but I didn't really pay attention until now.

A few minutes ago, they had torn all the hair off my body, leaving my skin feeling completely tingly and itchy. Not to mention, the process had been painful. Somehow, I feel as though I have become more susceptible to danger, as though they had torn off a layer of my protection.

My body is soaked in bubbles and water, and I breathe in, feeling the scent enter my nostrils.

Augusta's hand slips in and out of my loose hair. They took out my mother's braid before anything else, and my reaping dress hangs on a chair in the side of the room. "Well, _I_ think you're almost ready."

"Here." Agatha holds out a towel, which I take gratefully. As Augusta turns on the water, I feel it slowly disperse the bubbles into the tub beneath, and I rub the startlingly soft towel against my skin.

"You're ready!" Augusta squeals. "Rowan's just going to _love_ the way you look! Let's go and get him! And don't you _dare_ keep your robe on!" And she and Agatha vanish out the room.

Rowan, as the prep team has mentioned multiple times, is my stylist. From the way they talk about him, he doesn't amount to be much, according to me; Augusta and Agatha like his company, so that probably isn't very good. And all that they're saying about him is that he works really well with a 'theme'. So I don't know if that's going to put me at ease or not.

I sit down on the soft couch, not daring to put on my robe in case Rowan gets angry.

Moments later, a young man, probably in his twenties, enters the room. His dark hair is wavy and falls into place on his head, and his dark amber eyes are lined with silver. His high cheekbones are sharp and defined, making him look somewhat younger. He circles me, slowly, studying my bare body, then finally decides to sit down on the couch, motioning for me to do the same. "Go on; get your robe. My name is Rowan, and I'm going to be your stylist for the twenty-eighth Hunger Games."

"I... I'm Sylvia. Sylvia Nightrose," I say.

This only makes Rowan smile even more, as I put on the soft robe and settle down across from him, rather awkwardly. "So, Sylvia. What do you think are your chances of winning the Games?"

"I... I don't know," I say, honestly.

Rowan smiles again. "Do you know what sponsors are?" I shake my head. "In the Games, based on the way you look and act during the Opening Ceremony, interview, and training, many people choose to put money into their favorite tributes. The tributes get something that will help them, during the Games."

"So sponsors are a good thing," I conclude.

"Yes, they are," Rowan states. "Now, the reason I'm here is to help you _gain_ those sponsors."

" _Look_ at me," I say, frowning. "I can't do anything. All I can resort to in the Games is running away from all my attackers, and hiding. Do you _still_ think I'll be able to gain sponsors? It doesn't seem likely to me."

"I might," Rowan says quietly. There is a long pause between us, which Rowan breaks, finally. "So, Sylvia, your district partner has Daphne as his stylist. The two of us have decided on a theme for the two of you, as we must do to each year's tributes."

"And... this theme is...?" I ask.

"Well, District 11 is the district of agriculture, is it not?" I nod, and he continues. "We _water_ plants, when we grow the crops, right?"

"Our theme is water?"

Rowan smiles, nodding, and looks at me directly in my bright blue eyes. "But District 4 is the district for fishing. So as soon as we create your opening ceremony outfit, you'll see why it wouldn't make sense for a District 4 tribute _to_ wear it."

* * *

 _A Question for You: Your thoughts on Rowan? What do you think the dress will be?_

 _All right. That chapter didn't take me too long to write; I had a lot of free time, for some reason. For the coming chapters until the Games actually start, I'll provide you with a list of tributes at the end of each chapter. When the Games begin, I'll give you a list of those surviving and those dead (in total). Anyway, please review!_

 _~ The Tiger's Flame_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

I feel a soft, smooth fabric drape over my bare body, but I can't see it. Rowan has put a blindfold over my bright blue eyes, insisting that the opening ceremony dress that he has designed for me is a wonderful surprise. Rowan has described the dress as "flowy", "swift", "natural", and "beautiful". But I guess I can only understand what he means when the blindfold is removed, and when I get to see myself.

I sense that Rowan has stopped, and that I am completely dressed. I tilt my head upwards. "Can I remove this, now?" I ask.

There is a pause before Rowan answers. "Yes, you can. See your opening ceremony dress for yourself." As he speaks, my hands reach up and fumble with the soft blindfold, before finally whipping it off my face. I hurry over to the tall mirror to my right, and stare into it.

Rowan seems to have transformed me; I can hardly recognize myself in this costume. The top half of the dress features grass and flowers woven together in no particular pattern. The emerald leaves, woven in here and there, makes me seem to glow, and it makes the dress look all the more beautiful. Around my waist, or rather, slightly higher, the green fades nicely into a deep blue, and this blue skirt falls to my ankles.

To say that I love it is an understatement.

Rowan, now, is carefully watching my face. "Well?"

"It's... beautiful," I pronounce, awed.

Rowan smiles. " _That's_ not the main part of your costume," he says. "Do you remember, I told you that you and Troy would have 'water' as your theme?" I nod, confused. "Cindy, who's Troy's stylist, is creating something very similar to yours. Well, just before you board your chariots, you would understand."

"How much time is there, left?" I ask.

"Not long." Rowan places a hand on my shoulder. "That means, we have to get the rest of you fixed up and ready." He eyes me, raising one eyebrow. "Starting with your hair." At his words, my hand flies up to my hair in embarrassment. It seems to be completely tangled, from what Augusta and Agatha did to me earlier.

Still, Rowan's dress has filled me with curiosity. Somehow, I cannot wait to find out what this 'water' thing is, and how it is related to me and Troy. As long as I won't be drenched or drowned by the end of the ceremony, I should be fine... right?

I realize that Rowan is in the midst of braiding my long, brown hair, and I lower my head slightly, towards the blue cloth that swishes around my legs. Rowan doesn't stop, as he continues his way down my hair, which is unusually straight and smooth for a person of District 11. Finally, I feel his hand leave my hair, and he circles me once. I raise an eyebrow. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" Rowan states, smiling. " _I_ think you look great." I lift my head to look right into his eyes, as he is much taller than I am. I'm only twelve; no number of _sponsors_ or anything of the sort is going to help me in the Games. "Now," Rowan adds, "are you ready? There's only a few minutes until the ceremony begins."

* * *

Troy and I are standing in the chariot, side by side. It feels odd to me, as he is taller than I am, by quite a lot. Rowan hasn't shown me what this "water" thing is, yet, and neither has Cindy, the silver-haired woman who is Troy's stylist. Troy is dressed in a simple navy-and-green suit, as he stands beside me; I am in my grass-woven and deep blue dress.

"Ready?" Rowan asks, stepping forward. In his hand, he holds a small container of water. I hope he is not expecting us to carry that around in the chariot. But Rowan seems to have different plans. Gently, he raises his arm, and I look to see that Cindy has done the same, from where she is, beside Troy.

All at once, I see that Rowan has poured the slightest amount of water over my shoulders. Rapidly, he is fixing something at the bottom; probably so that no water will leave the dress. Cindy is doing the same to my district partner.

"Now, let's go. District 1 will start in seconds," Cindy announces, then allows Troy to stand up.

"I'm nervous," Troy tells me, taking me by surprise. The two of us haven't really communicated before, but now, Troy, who's much older and larger than I am, is telling me how he is feeling. It's rather strange, but I play along.

"So am I," I reply, slightly cautiously. "But it'll soon be over."

As soon as the words have left my mouth, District 1's chariot races past us. I see that they are wearing blue and gold costumes, glitter radiating the fact that they are the district of luxury. But they are past in a blur, in front of so many people.

The two black horses snort, suddenly. I am filled with the irrational fear that I will drown in this costume, but I push that sensation back, telling myself that it is too small an amount of water to take my life. And I tell myself that Rowan wouldn't design something that would kill me.

District 2 is clothed in silver armor, which is probably what they wear every year. The boy and the girl wear matching war-helmets, and their fists are clenched, as if they are ready to head out into the arena in moments.

The District 3 tributes are wearing shimmering black, and their headress is a blur of silver. Their costumes look as though they are made by millions of wires placed close together, and I realize that this is the district of technology.

District 4. The district of fishing. I watch as the two tributes, clothed in blue, pass us, their horses charging across. But what attracts my attention is the female tribute, whose piercing blue gaze meets mine as she passes. For a moment, I glimpse a glare in her eyes, but it is gone, replaced by excitement as the chariot moves away. I don't think it happened, anyway; she doesn't even _know_ me.

The tributes of District 5 are dressed as power workers, wearing silver metal costumes, smoke running down their suits. Their heads are covered with sturdy silver helmets, and they almost look like genuine workers.

Then comes District 6. The two tributes are clothed in shining gold, and are wearing what one of the Career districts would wear in their everyday lives. But their shimmery, disk-like headress tells me that they're dressed as some type of Capitol aid. "What district is that?" I ask Troy, curiosity edging my brilliant blue gaze as I stare after District 6. The girl blinks calmly at me, for less than a second, then turns away as their chariot continues.

"Transportation," comes his reply. "I think they're dressed as train hosts. See their wings?"

"Oh. Right." Only now do I notice that each tribute has a pair of pale golden wings from their back, the traditional symbol of a transportation host or hostess. I can't help but smile as the District 6 girl turns away and stands tall in the chariot.

District 7 comes next. They are dressed in a dark brown, though their clothing is coated in a layer of oak leaves. This is the lumber district; no doubt they are dressed as trees and wood. No, it's not as funny as it sounds. Lumber is a serious source of production for the Capitol.

Then, District 8 passes by, no more than a flash of color. They are wearing colorful clothing, evidently representing the textile industry, the major industry of that district.

And District 9 appears, then races past almost as soon as I see it. The tributes are dressed in what seems to be wheat, which makes sense, as this is the district which is mainly responsible for grain. My hand brushes against my dress. We are District 11, the second-to-last. Suddenly, our turn in the opening ceremony doesn't seem so far into the future, after all.

District 10's female and male tributes are dressed as ranch workers. This is the district of livestock, so both are wearing navy overalls, over clean white suits. Now, my heart speeds up. We're next. Our chariot will start moving in moments.

And it does.

Seconds later, our chariot is being pulled by the black horses down the aisle, and there are crowds of people on either side of us, cheering our district on. Then, I recall suddenly that we are still the "rivers of District 11". That must be why the crowd pays so much attention to us.

I wonder what they think.

I must seem so small and pale compared to Troy, who's much taller and darker. I'm twelve, the minimum age, and Troy is eighteen, the maximum age. I'm probably the youngest tribute in the last ten years, or so. The crowd probably thinks we're polar opposites.

A dark red rose lands on my shoulder, but my hands are shaking too much to acknowledge it. I realize that the crowd is cheering for us even louder than it is for the previous districts. Drawing in a deep breath, I raise one hand, and Troy does so, too. Together, we wave at the crowd.

And a smile plays its way onto my face, as the horses stop.

For the first time, I notice District 12. They are in all black; both the girl and the boy are wearing suits. They stop moments after we do, and the crowd lets out a burst of cheering for all the districts. The water is still running down our backs. We are the rivers of District 11, still.

President Snow speaks, but I'm not really listening. I feel as though this is all worthless, just pampering us before we all die. _How convenient,_ I think, with a brief glare at the crowd. _I want everyone to know who I am, and to be beautified in front of everyone, just before I die at someone else's hands._

And, just like that, minutes later, the Opening Ceremony is over.

* * *

List of Tributes:

District 1 - Vivienne Hyvershine (female) and Ember Lyonstone (male)

District 2 - Lauren Castor (female) and Cain Follixe (male)

District 3 - Nova Ryams (female) and Niko Allen (male)

District 4 - Scarlett Venak (female) and Aenon Fenshale (male)

District 5 - Molly Goldburn (female) and Isaac Sparktone (male)

District 6 - Adrienne Ryline (female) and Luke Carter (male)

District 7 - Ivy Lomin (female) and Cedar Plavinius (male)

District 8 - Leah Jettsyne (female) and Actaeon Billage (male)

District 9 - Kezia Miller (female) and Harvey Cerez (male)

District 10 - Penelope/Penny Oxford (female) and Talon Haymoon (male)

District 11 - Sylvia Nightrose (female) and Troy Whitethorn (male)

District 12 - Misty Collins (female) and Ashton Blackshade (male)

* * *

 _A Question for You: Has your opinion of Troy changed even a bit, now that they're talking to each other? In a good way or bad way?_

 _Hello, again, everyone! Sorry that it took me slightly longer than usual to update, this time. It took me quite a while to come up with the appropriate names for each tribute. (I promised you a list for every chapter, didn't I?)_

 _Anyway, please review!_

 _~ The Tiger's Flame_


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

Brilliant. Training. One step closer to death. Dylan, our mentor, puts a hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry, Sylvia, Troy. All that Atala will do is explain the various training stations, and give you a little bit of advice for the Games."

"Atala?" Troy echoes.

"Yeah, Atala." Dylan nods. "She's the lead trainer." My muscles tense, as I walk slowly through the entrance to the training area. Troy follows, moments after. The door slides down, but through the holes, I can still see Dylan. He smiles. "You'll be fine."

"Tributes of the to-be twenty-eighth Hunger Games!" Troy exchanges a glance with me, then hurries to the center, where the other tributes have gathered. Hesitantly, I follow. A very young, dark-skinned, dark-haired woman stands in the center, addressing us all.

I look around. Beside me is the blonde girl from District 1, and the light brown-haired girl from District 6. Both seem to be sixteen or seventeen. In front of me, almost entirely blocking my view of Atala, is the tall boy from District 8.

Atala continues. "You know that in less than two weeks, only one of you will be alive. But who that is depends on how well you listen and take my advice during training, as well as some other factors, of course. One basic rule when training: do _not_ fight with other tributes. That's reserved for the arena."

I'm only half-listening, though I know that this is important.

"Also, there are four compulsory exercises, and after that, everything is individual training. Don't leave out the survival skills. Don't head straight for the weapons. Many of you will actually die from natural causes. 10% from infection, 20% from dehydration. Exposure is a major enemy, when you're in the arena."

I try to listen, now. The word 'enemy' has brought me back. Atala keeps speaking, but not for long. "Now, go ahead and start training. You each can go and visit various sections, and give it everything you have."

As soon as the crowd disperses, I know that I'm _not_ giving it everything I have. I'm _not_ showing them what I can do with a bow and arrow. I'm not going to risk humiliation right now. I'm pretty sure I can only shoot with the bow I have at home, back in District 11. That had indents that I was used to, and I probably couldn't find that anywhere else.

So... I have to stick to running, climbing, and edible plants.

 _There it is._ The edible plants section is a table that glows. I realize that it is electronic, and I have to work along with it. I unfold the slip of paper placed on top of the table, hoping for some sort of advice for the Games. Instead, it gives the instructions: _The plants will keep changing. For the first level, your job is to tap all of the plants that are edible. After that, you may advance onto the next level. You have to tap all the plants that are used as herbal remedies._

Great. The table shows about thirty or forty different plant images to tap. I step closer to the table, glimpsing a dark red berry which I find to be very familiar. Somehow, I can't place its name, but I tentatively tap the image of it. Every time I tap a correct image, the plants shift, and moer appear.

I think that if I tap an incorrect plant, I have to start over. But I'm not going to try.

Slowly, my fingers get used to this, and are soon flying across the table, from plant to plant. This is easy; I'm the healer of my district. _Okay... burdock... cattail... clover... dock... dandelion... sorrel... fireweed..._ I sigh in relief as the screen clears, and the words "Well done" are displayed.

 _Next. Herbal plants._ My fingers continue to tap the plants as they appear. If this is all the Games are, I should be fine, right? But in my heart, I know that the other tributes will pose a major threat to me.

 _Mallow... lily... blue violet... rose... burdock root..._ Finally, I start to relax, and the screen clears. Drawing in a deep breath, I turn and walk away, to the next station of training. I know that the Hunger Games aren't this simple.

I turn my head as I glimpse the girl from District 2 and the girl from District 9. The first seems to be speaking insults to the latter, and my lips curve in a smile. If the other tributes kill each other, maybe I'll be the last one left.

Or maybe not.

No, it's not going to happen. I can, however, assure myself that about half the tributes will be dead by the end of the first day, because of the bloodbath. And most likely, one of those is going to be me. So what am I training for?

Footsteps sound behind me, and I turn rapidly, only to see that it is Atala, who is walking around, watching all the tributes train. The dark-skinned woman smiles. "Have you done anything yet?"

I nod. "The edible plants." Strangely, my voice doesn't come out as shaky as I thought it would.

"Good," she says, and I can tell that she means it. "Most tributes are ignoring what I said and are going straight to the weapons. Why don't you go and try the rope-climbing section?" She points to a flimsy-looking rope ladder a short distance away. Despite her words, her tone tells me that this is an order.

So reluctantly, I begin to climb.

I feel Atala's small black eyes trained on my back as I slowly scale my way up. My feet find the holes themselves, and I use my hands to climb. It's no normal rope; this swings and flips over. It takes me a while to find out the right way to balance myself. After what seems like minutes, I look down.

At that moment, the rope ladder flips over. My eyes widen, and my feet and hands clench the rope tightly. My back is now facing the ground, and I am looking upwards. There's nothing but hard ground below me, so I won't let myself fall. My feet both slip, and now, I'm left hanging onto the rope with two hands, sure that I am about to fall any minute, as I stare down, suddenly afraid.

By some miracle, I manage to swing my legs high enough to attach to the rope, again, to my great relief. Drawing in a breath, I flip myself over, and the rope goes with me. Then, my cheeks burning, I scale my way to the top, only to see that Atala has left the area.

 _Oh, well._

I slide in between two looped ropes; I can see the entire room from up here. I do not have to hold onto anything, either; my body is touching the ceiling because of the loops of rope - one around my chest, and the other around my thighs.

I want to see how the other tributes are doing.

The girl from District 1 is now standing, poised, a short distance away from the target, a black shape created by the Capitol. As I watched, awed, she lifts her spear, and it flies from her hand a few moments later. I stare as it finds its exact mark.

The District 2 girl is holding a circular disc that has spikes all around the edges. When she throws, the disc spins. I shudder as I imagine those spikes cutting through a tributes flesh and blood.

Below me is the boy from District 7. His axe is flashing here and there, and I shiver again as this weapon cuts through the air, over and over again.

District 4's female tribute's skill is knives. She throws at various angles, towards the targets, and she _never_ misses her mark. I close my eyes briefly. They'll all make very powerful - deadly - enemies, for me. With any luck, they'll kill off all the other tributes, first, maybe.

But luck hasn't been on my side, so far.

I feel a pair of eyes on me, so I look down, again. The girl with light brown hair - the one from District 6 - is staring up at me in awe. I smile pleasantly at her, momentarily forgetting the fact that we will soon be facing each other in a battle of life and death.

Before I can say anything to her, she has turned away, and for the first time, I see the gleam of the bow she holds. As I watch, she aims an arrow at the target black figure, and it pierces the center exactly.

I can't tell whether she thinks of me as a friend or an enemy. But it's probably the latter.

So I'm destined to die... very soon.

* * *

List of Tributes:

District 1 - Vivienne Hyvershine (female) and Ember Lyonstone (male)

District 2 - Lauren Castor (female) and Cain Follixe (male)

District 3 - Nova Ryams (female) and Niko Allen (male)

District 4 - Scarlett Venak (female) and Aenon Fenshale (male)

District 5 - Molly Goldburn (female) and Isaac Sparktone (male)

District 6 - Adrienne Ryline (female) and Luke Carter (male)

District 7 - Ivy Lomin (female) and Cedar Plavinius (male)

District 8 - Leah Jettsyne (female) and Actaeon Billage (male)

District 9 - Kezia Miller (female) and Harvey Cerez (male)

District 10 - Penelope/Penny Oxford (female) and Talon Haymoon (male)

District 11 - Sylvia Nightrose (female) and Troy Whitethorn (male)

District 12 - Misty Collins (female) and Ashton Blackshade (male)

* * *

 _A Question for You: What do you think is Sylvia's best shot at winning?_

 _Hello! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! There's not much to say, other than the fact that the Career tributes this time (Districts 1, 2, and 4) will make very powerful and deadly enemies. Anyway, continue reading!_

 _I updated faster, so reward me with a review, please? :)_

 _~ The Tiger's Flame_


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6:

Final day of training. It's when we get scored over what we've done for four days. I wonder what the Gamemakers would give to someone like me, who can't use any weapon too well. I am already in my training uniform, and my hair is tied into two braids. Now, I sit beside Troy, waiting for our signal.

"I'm nervous," I tell Troy, my hands clenched. "I don't know if I'll do that well."

Troy shrugs. "It'll be fine. You'll see."

"What are you going to show them?" I ask, widening my blue eyes at his casual indifference. Then, the question bubbles inside of me. What am _I_ going to show the Gamemakers? I can't handle any weapon... at least to the Capitol's knowledge. Not that I was going to let anyone see me botch the bow and arrow.

Troy grins. "Weights, probably. Or, maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll get my hands on a spear and aim straight."

Dylan, our trainer, shakes Troy's hand, then mine, and walks away, stopping by the waiting area's door. "You'll do fine," he tells us. "Both of you. Show the Gamemakers how District 11 _truly_ is."

I absently shake my head, my mind focused more on the thought of _what_ I would end up showing to the Gamemakers.

I feel a small tap on my shoulder, and I turn my head to see that it is Troy. The look in his eyes suggests that he had asked something, which I hadn't quite heard. He narrows his eyes as I speak. "Sorry, what did you say?"

"I said, do you have any allies, yet?"

I give a small shake of my head. _No one wants a pathetic scrap from District 11._ "Have you?"

"I'm planning a few tributes tonight," Troy tells me. He flashes a slight smile, his dark . "It can't do any harm to stay alive for a little longer during the Games." He blinks, then turns away, his voice lower. "I'll be going right after they announce the scores. Could you cover for me, Sylvia?"

"Which tributes?" I ask him, curiously.

Almost at the same time, Troy speaks. "What are you going to show the Gamemakers?"

I give Troy a hard stare. "Which tributes?" I repeat, gritting my teeth. Troy would have no trouble making allies. He was one of the giants. Troy opens his mouth, but before he can answer, the low gong of a hidden bell sounds, followed by the words of the lead Gamemaker, Seneca Crane.

"Troy Whitethorn, District 11."

Troy stands, his hand shaking for a moment before he clenches it into a fist and heads towards the door. I study his dark-skinned face, and my mouth opens involuntarily. "Good luck," I say.

 _What will I do?_ I ask myself, once Troy disappears. I rest my head in the palm of my hand, thinking. Whatever happens, I will _not_ touch the bow and arrow. That is _never_ to be revealed outside of District 11. But what else can I do? Climb rope? I'll never get a score over a four, from that.

"Sylvia Nightrose, District 11."

The voice of the lead Gamemaker rings in my ears, and I swallow, standing up. I sigh, softly. _This is it. What I found there would be what I showed the Gamemakers. Whatever the Gamemakers want me to show._ I smile to myself. _Simple._

I step cautiously into the large, dimly-lit room, and the door slides shut behind me. I whirl around, startled, and my heart races as I realize that the door will not open until the training session is over. I can't leave. I can't escape the Hunger Games.

Slowly, I force myself to draw in long, deliberate breaths as I step towards the center of the room. I look up to the platform to see that the Gamemakers are cheerfully conversing amongst themselves, laughing every now and then, as if this was any other day.

"Sylvia Nightrose," I say, my voice coming out louder than I expected. Most of the Gamemakers' heads turn toward me, and a few sit down, watching. "District 11." Looking around the room, I see nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

The room is empty. I run my gaze all around, once more, hoping that my eyes had missed something, but everything remained the same. I lift my head up, back to face the Gamemakers, who are watching me intently.

"Wh-what am I supposed to do?" I stammer, feeling red wash over my cheeks, making my face feel warm.

One man, still standing, adjusts a black tie over his red shirt, and nods, speaking. This must be Seneca Crane. "Run. Show us your speed. Throughout these four days, you showed us your instinct, courage, stealth... and so on, but not your speed."

I stare blankly at the Gamemaker.

"Though few tributes ever show us speed, we decided that _you_ should." After these words, Seneca Crane mutters under his breath. "You haven't shown us much else." Another Gamemaker snickers at this, but their eyes are on me.

"Run?" I echo, staring around me. Though this is definitely one thing I am good at, I'm suddenly very hesitant. Drawing in a deep breath, I obey the Gamemakers' orders, and sprint back and forth across the area.

 _They probably haven't seen much of me,_ I realize. _I haven't shown them much. And I'm so small, they don't think I can do much. So they want to give me something above a 1, and they're asking me to run._

I stop at the Gamemakers' signal, and I notice something I hadn't seen when I entered. It is a rope, suspended from the ceiling. Breathing in, I feel numerous pairs of eyes on me, and I clasp the rope firmly between two hands, and scale my way upward.

My hand slips once, but I catch myself in time, and I keep going. Determination beats in my chest as I cling to the rope, from where I am, a few inches below the ceiling. The Gamemakers say nothing, so I carefully slither down.

Seneca Crane, the Gamemaker who had spoken earlier, whispers something to another Gamemaker. He nods at me. "Dismissed."

* * *

"Well, how do you _think_ you did?" Lucy Vunfire is pestering Troy and me. When she had asked, I had pointed out that the scores were yet to come, in minutes. But Lucy, obviously, wants more than that. She's been asking for the last hour, almost, and the scores will be up soon.

"Fine. Just fine," I tell her.

Troy mirrors my defensive stare and faces Lucy. "Thanks, Lucy, but we did fine."

Lucy huffs, and turns away, just as Dylan descends the steps and collapses in the seat beside Troy. "How'd you both do? What did you show them?" To Lucy, he adds, "Sorry... I had a prior engagement."

"As I _just_ told Lucy," I retort, "we did fine. I showed them running and climbing."

Troy shrugs. "I threw some weights around."

Dylan seems to be hiding disappointment. "Is that all? What else have you got to tell me, you two?" He crosses his arms over his chest, staring first at me, then at Troy, then back at me again.

"Hush, will you?" Lucy breaks into his words, then points at the screen. "Watch."

Caesar Flickerman, the man who will hold our interviews tomorrow, appears on the screen, and he seems to be staring directly at every one of us. Well, I wouldn't be surprised if the Capitol's technology was just that.

As the tribute receives a score, an image of him or her appears beside the white number, all over a black screen.

The boy from District 1 earns a ten, and the girl scores a nine. I've never met her in person, before, but I recall that she was the girl with the spear. Caesar called her Vivienne... or something like that.

In District 2, both tributes, Cain and Lauren, score nines. In the images of them, they wear identical determined smirks over their pale faces.

I don't recall much of District 3. It isn't a Career district, but the boy scores a seven, and the girl, an eight. Both seem strong and determined, from the image shown of each. I shiver. I wouldn't have gotten even a three.

Then comes District 4, the final Career district. Caesar announces that the boy - I didn't quite catch his name - has received an eight. The girl, Scarlett, receives a ten. Scarlett's face looks familiar, and then, I realize. She was the one who threw knives so accurately.

Both District 5 tributes receive eights.

The District 6 tributes appear on screen. The boy scores a seven, but I don't pay much attention to him. It's the girl who catches my eye. She was the one staring up at me earlier, watching me climb. She seems harmless, but... appearances can be deceiving, I guess. I might trust her, if I ever got the chance.

I don't really pay much attention to Seven, Eight, or Nine. They shouldn't be too powerful, like the Careers. For District 10, all I recall is that the girl scores an eight. These three are, well... the average districts.

District 11. _Our_ District.

A strange silence falls over our little group, and all of us are watching intently. Caesar seems to be staring directly at Troy and me, once again. He speaks. "From District 11... Troy Whitethorn scored a nine."

Lucy gasps in excitement, then beams at Troy. Dylan murmurs to my district partner, and I say my congratulations. My eyes, however, are on the screen, wacthing Caesar draw in a breath and continue.

"And, from District 11, Sylvia Nightrose received a score of... six."

I draw in a long breath, swallowing, and sit back. My ears are ringing for no reason, and my heart is in my chest. That's terrible, absolutely _terrible,_ compared to the other tributes. Even the District _12_ tributes score eights.

Pathetic.

* * *

Troy is speaking with multiple tributes. I can't hear what they are saying, so I creep closer, behind a small vase, listening. Then, I recognize the muscular forms of the group as those of the Careers. _He's making allies!_ I realize. _With the Careers!_

"...could use another ally," the District 4 knife girl tells Troy.

Troy nods. "I would stand a better chance as well."

"Then is it decided." The boy from District 2 steps forward as he speaks. I can see the glint of his dark eyes in the dim light. "Troy is now officially a member of the Career pack." He reaches out an arm and shakes Troy's hand vigorously for a few long seconds before letting go.

The District 1 girl leans forward. "Meet us back here after the interviews, tomorrow. Until then, good luck."

I watch, shock flaring in the depths of my brilliant blue eyes, as the Careers turn and vanish into the elevator. Troy is standing alone. He watches the Careers disappear, then turns around. My breath comes in short pants. I had perceived Troy wrong all this time.

Before he can walk past me, I spring out from behind the vase, causing Troy to skid to a startled halt. My blue eyes blaze as I glare fiercely at the eighteen-year-old tribute who was so much larger than me.

Troy opens his mouth to speak, but the words escape _my_ mouth first. "I know what you did!" I shout, anger and a slight betrayal lacing my voice. "I _saw_ you, allying with the Careers. You can't justify that, Troy. District 11 tributes just _don't_ ally with Careers. They fend for themselves." My words come out faster, now. "And what about me? I was considering being your ally. But, of course, who would want a pathetic twelve-year-old?"

Without waiting for a reply, I turn and stalk back down the main hall. I feel something touch my wrist, and I whirl around, eyes blazing. Troy stands there, defiance in his eyes. "I want to _survive_ these Games. That's all that matters, now."

My mouth opens to reply, but before any words can escape my lips, Troy's right arm swings toward me.

Pain explodes in the side of my neck, and I fall sideways, crumpling to the ground. My head hits the vase, which shatters, and I can feel warm blood flow from my head. Then, I hit the solid ground. My vision blurs and darkens around the edges before everything goes black.

* * *

List of Tributes:

District 1 - Vivienne Hyvershine (female) and Ember Lyonstone (male)

District 2 - Lauren Castor (female) and Cain Follixe (male)

District 3 - Nova Ryams (female) and Niko Allen (male)

District 4 - Scarlett Venak (female) and Aenon Fenshale (male)

District 5 - Molly Goldburn (female) and Isaac Sparktone (male)

District 6 - Adrienne Ryline (female) and Luke Carter (male)

District 7 - Ivy Lomin (female) and Cedar Plavinius (male)

District 8 - Leah Jettsyne (female) and Actaeon Billage (male)

District 9 - Kezia Miller (female) and Harvey Cerez (male)

District 10 - Penelope/Penny Oxford (female) and Talon Haymoon (male)

District 11 - Sylvia Nightrose (female) and Troy Whitethorn (male)

District 12 - Misty Collins (female) and Ashton Blackshade (male)

* * *

 _A Question For You:_ _I guess Troy's real side just got revealed! Do you think he's still harmless to Sylvia, or is he actually that malicious? (Basically, was it just a stupid decision to join the Careers, or did he have some other motive against Sylvia?)_

 _Hi, again! Sorry I took so long to update! I'll try to get the next update out by this weekend. :)_

 _Please review!_

 _~ The Tiger's Flame_


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